King of the Wookies
by Suicidal.Fishie
Summary: If you've ever: seen Star Wars 23 consecutive times, been abducted by aliens from Sexy Beast Land, proposed to someone in the third grade, or been responsible for the fate of life on Earth as we know it I think this fic is for you.[GaaSakuNeji]


**King Of the Wookies**

This is not an easy story for me to tell. You see, it's long, complicated, and loaded with many unnecessary references to Star Wars. But dire circumstances have called for the telling of my story. It's either this or the end of earth as we know it. Which wouldn't entirely be a bad thing but we still have hope. We still have Starbucks to go to, Pirates of The Caribbean sequels to look forward to, and Krispy Kreme donuts to devour. The telling of this story stands in the way of ending all of these wonderful things and the beginning of Armageddon. And also, film production plans for a Gligli 2. The chaos first ensues in elementary school...The pre-Gligli days…

I was like a wookie. Chewbacca, to be specific. All the humans look down on him but in reality Chewbacca is the shit. Chewbacca is worshiped like a god by all the other wookies on his planet; they want to be just like him. The humans just think he's some stupid wannabe sasquatch. But he's not. He's Chewbacca, King Wookie.

That was me, King Wookie. I was like a hairless Chewbacca minus the other wookies. Armed with a bottle of mace for protection, a kickin' mouth full of headgear, and a suitcase for a backpack I happily skipped to school just about every morning.

"Good morning, Shikamaru-san."

"Good morning, Ino-san."

"Good morning, Temari-san."

"Good morning, Naruto-san."

"Good morning, Sasuke-san."

"Good morning, Ten-ten-san."

"Good morning, Lee-san."

"Good morning, Kankuro-san."

"Good morning, Kiba-san."

"Good morning, Hinata-san."

"Good morning, Shino-san."

"Good morning, Chouji-san."

"Good morning-" I chirped merrily, but then stopped when I realized there was no one left to say good morning to. _Funny_, I thought, _usually I say hi to more people than that_. **Yeah** my inner self agreed.

Someone was missing. Confused, I decided that it would be a prime time to whip out my asthma inhaler and use it while pondering the case of the mysterious missing classmate. _Who's missing?_ I thought, my hideously bushy, un-plucked, pink eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to think hard. I ran a hand through my short, greasy petal colored hair, patted down my bowl-cut bangs and adjusted my cat glasses, that were missing multiple rhinestones. I turned as soon as heard the soft click of the door knob.

"Sorry, I'm late" he said softly, standing nonchalantly in the doorway, the morning sunlight was highlighting his strong features to their absolute best advantage. My squinty eyes lit up and my dry, Chapstick deprived lips parted in to a smile, revealing about $15,000 worth of dental work (also known as headgear) and my patented I-can't-believe-it's-not-butter-yellow, gapped front teeth complete with chipped left tooth.

Extreme make over anyone?

He stepped back a couple inches and said nothing. His pastel eyes seemed to peer right through me.

"Good morning, Neji-san!" I purred, flaunting my frumpy khaki ankle length skirt pulled up to my profusely sweaty armpits complete with the ripped puke-green Star Wars anniversary t-shirt 3 sizes too big, tucked in to my grandma-undies, shooting warning flashes from the worn elastic at all innocent civilians who chose to look. Wedgie? Yes. Shot by the fashion police? Fortunately, no. Looking back at it, I think the main reason I believe in God is because I'm constantly thanking him for the miracle that the Fab Five weren't in town when I was wearing that outfit or any equally horrible ensemble. I would have gotten stabbed numerous times, trampled by the staff of Neiman Marcus, stuffed down a pipe at the bathroom of a Macy's and then I wouldn't be telling this story.

My ugly elementary school self basked in the hotness known as Neji Hyuuga for about 20 minutes before the door swung open, once again. And that's where the story begins.

"Class, Class! Settle down!" Mrs. Toshiba screeched from the frame of the wooden doorway, stomping her skinny high heeled foot on to the ground to make a point to the completely calm classroom. I covered my ears and wheeled my suitcase/backpack to my desk. She called roll in her screechy, harpy voice that never seemed to lower to the "indoor voices" volume she expected from all of us.

"Neji Hyuuga!" She screeched.

He nodded.

"Neji Hyuuga!" She said it louder this time, obviously wanting a response from him instead of a nod.

_Please don't let her kill him. Please! _I inwardly begged Inner Sakura _I don't want him to die by the hands of a 50 year old school teacher who's bitter about being alone so she takes it out on her students until I…you know…No, I will not pantomime this! You know what I mean…._

Inner Sakura stopped and thought for a minute. **Oh.** She said. **OH! **She said again. And then she threw up (mentally of course). I even disgusted the people who lived in my head. Now, that is a sign of a **true **social retard.

"NEJI HYUUGA! ANSWER ME!"

Neji held his own as Mrs. Toshiba click-clacked her way toward his desk in her fire engine red-fuck-me-over-a-table-at-McDonalds-pumps. She craned her giraffe neck down to meet his eye level. I could only stare helplessly, his desk across from mine.

"Neji Hyuuga!" she shrieked in a dangerously high shrill tone.

He stared her down, "present," he said coolly. I could have died right then. Mrs. Toshiba harrumphed and barked at us to open our textbooks to chapter 1. As we learned about the proper use of a comma I stared at, _the _Neji Hyuuga. In history we supposedly learned about General E. Lee. Who needs the Civil War when Neji Hyuuga is in front of you! As we learned multiplication tables I informed the class that two times two equals Neji. And at the end of the period Neji Hyuuga was spelled incorrectly a total of 198 times. I supposed I should have learned to spell his name before even thinking about proposing but considering that we were about eight at the time I was sure that we'd have no time for that. We had kids to make, worlds to conquer, and…waffles to eat. Fucked up at eight? Of course not! In denial about it? Eternally.

Finally, recess came. _A perfect chance to propose! _I thought to myself, tucking a stray, greasy strand under my ear, plucking the 50 cent plastic ring I got from a toy machine off my finger and padding off to find the one and only Neji Hyuuga. Only to find myself trampled on by a group of rabid girls, biting and clawing their way to Neji. I crawled a safe distance away, I hadn't had all my shots yet and I felt the need for all of my limbs to stay in tact. Finally, about 20 minutes and two blood sacrifices later Neji was down and out, that and the scent of over bearing perfume lingering in the air- the only clue leading to the fact that Neji had gotten mobbed by a group of scantily clad eight year old girls. He looked at me once. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone in school heard it and I could have sworn that you could see the redness of my flushed face from space. The ring fell gracefully from my fingertips and on the side of him.

"No fucking way." He said.

"B-B-But-" I started.

"No."

If I wasn't so heartbroken then, at age 8, I would have thought hot and psychic! What CAN'T this guy do! I held in my tears of anguish and did the only thing I could do. I popped open the can of mace and sprayed directly in his pretty eyes.

"RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! NEJI TRIED TO RAPE MEEEEEEEE!" I screamed, can of mace in hand, Neji curled up on the ground, holding his face. In a very Jackie Chan like manner I preformed a stunning roundhouse kick to his rib. Children from all over the playground started to gather around in a huge circle and chanted: "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" Neji stared at me with a mixture of regret, pain, and pure terror as I brought my tin Scooby Doo lunch box down on his head. He curled in to a protective human ball and I tried to tug clumps his suspiciously perfect hair out. The crowd was no longer there as I began to beat Neji/ex-future husband. It was no longer a fight about him turning down my marriage proposal. It was the anger I developed over the years. And before I knew it Mrs. Toshiba was outside of the classroom, dragging Neji out of the playground and was gone like a shot in the dark. I never saw him after that.

Or so I thought.

Short story long, all was going pretty well, without much incident until I hit puberty, when Etch 'n Sketch started to lose all meaning, and I resorted to age-old teachings of MTV for guidance. I though my first pimple was a symptom of leprosy and, in fearing for the future of my nose and other important ligaments, proceed to wear ski masks to school. Which only really became a problem when I walked into a McDonald's, introduced myself to a disgruntled employee, and began to live life at the end of a shotgun.

Things only worsened with time.

When I hit high school I became severely depressed with the prospect that I would never be world champion at beer pong, but with a moment's consideration, realized my life would be better spent trying to bring back roller disco. An idea that lasted until I discovered leg warmers went with none of my outfits and were more practical when used as earmuffs for when my flat mate's sleazy boyfriend decided to stay the night. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I peaked at eight.

Everyday was like the other. Like God was stuck on repeat for some crappy song on the great ipod in the sky. Sleep. Get up. Eat. Go to work. Sleep. Get up. Eat. Go to work. Sleep. Get up. Eat. Go to work. Rinse. Recycle. Repeat. One particularly annoyingly sunny Saturday morning there was a knock on the door. I sleepily made my way to the front of my apartment. I dug the sleep out of my eye with one hand and opened the door with the other.

"Sakura," He smirked and walked swiftly into the apartment, settling on a kitchen stool, did somebody order an incredibly hot Asian guy with extra ego? "Bet you didn't expect to see me again."

I see an acting career in my future because I have the beautiful talent of acting awkward on cue, widening my eyes to twice their normal size, and stuttering so fast that any mucus in my mouth at the beginning of a statement is entirely non-existent by its humiliating end. I shook my head profusely. I really NEVER did expect to see him again. In fact, I've _never_ seen this man in my life. **Ever**.

_Um okay so yeah it's short and the idea is weird and the plot is developing and it's abit boring as of now: I KNOW! Just tell me what you think in a review. Unless it will hurt my already faltering self confidence. Just kidding. I'm a big girl. I can tie my own shoes. Bring it on._


End file.
